


Queen

by nastea



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Body Horror, Canon Compliant, Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Eggpreg, Horror, Mind Break, Other, Oviposition, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sex Pollen, Tentacles, Teratophilia, monster fucking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-18
Updated: 2020-08-18
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:15:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25974268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nastea/pseuds/nastea
Summary: Billy is the American in the cell.He isn’t alone.
Comments: 4
Kudos: 91





	Queen

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Awrble](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Awrble/gifts).



> Please make sure you read the tags before reading! Ye be warned, this is pretty dark and icky.
> 
> Dedicated to the incredibly talented Awrble, who really egged me on to finish this. ;)

Billy isn’t sure how long he spends in the darkness. All he knows is that, at some point, he wakes up in a grimy cell with phantom pain twisting across his chest and a constant throbbing between his ears.

He’s alone for a while. Men occasionally pass by his cell and speak to each other in a language that Billy doesn’t understand. Sometimes they push him a plate of gruel through the latch at the bottom of the heavy cell door.

“Fucking Commies,” Billy spits at them. It’s met only with jeering laughter as they walk away. 

They leave him there, in utter solitude, for what feels like days. It gets to the point that Billy thinks he might lose his mind. That he starts talking to himself just to fill the silence.

In retrospect, Billy thinks he would have preferred wasting away alone to _this._

He’s holed up in the corner of the dank five-by-five cell, by now oblivious to the stench of it. But not to this _new_ stench — blood and gunpowder and something Billy can’t put his finger on. It fills his nostrils. Makes him feel queasy.

He’s staring across the narrow space at the creature the Russians left him with. It's vaguely humanoid in shape, but instead of a face it has this horrible, bulbous maw, twisted and featureless. Its skin looks like it’s been peeled off to reveal all the gore and sinew beneath, and it’s stretched too-tight over its skeleton, like the thing is emaciated. 

Something about it is eerily familiar. It makes the scars along Billy’s chest ache and his head pound harder.

They brought this monster here to eat him, he thinks. 

Billy wishes he had more to defend himself with than his fists, that he had more strength in him than he does now, but he’s enfeebled by the scarce food he’s given and by the exhaustion and fear that sinks into his bones like a sickness.

The creature looks hurt, too, like it’s just as much a prisoner here as Billy is. It’s been lying limply in the corner since the men dragged it in here, sticking Billy — and _it_ — with an electric prod until he’d passed out in a writhing, drooling mess on the floor. 

They’re both awake now. At least, Billy _thinks_ its awake. He can’t be sure; its eyeless head is rested against the ground but it's turned toward him. Watching and biding its time, Billy figures, until it decides to rip him apart.

Billy kind of wishes it would hurry the fuck up and get this over with.

It would be better, Billy thinks, than waiting around for the inevitable. It would be better than feeling himself sink slowly into insanity, because he could swear the thing starts to _speak_ to him. 

It’s not actually talking, its mouthless visage unmoving, but Billy looks at it one moment and feels like he can hear it. He wonders if maybe he’s finally lost his fucking mind when the word rattles around in his head, clear and unmistakeable:

_**Queen.** _

Billy bristles at that, pride smarting, fury bubbling. The voice in his head isn't mocking or snide. It just _is._

But he still takes the word as an insult. Because it's all he's ever known it to be.

"I'm not a fucking _queen,"_ he spits to the darkness, to the creature in the corner as it lay there, leaking black ichor from the singed wounds across its body. It chitters — a low, wet sound. The five petals of its mouth undulate, like it’s puffing its cheeks. 

Billy imagines it's laughing. He wants to get up and kick his boot into its side. 

He _wants_ to, but he can't. His legs are too weak to move. He deflates against the grime-covered wall and watches it, instead, through half-lidded eyes.

_**Our Queen.** _

The voice is insistent. Billy's lip pulls back into a snarl.

"I said, I'm not—"

But the creature is finally moving. Crawling, slowly, onto all fours. Hauling itself at an agonizing pace along the floor, until it's half-way to Billy. Until it pushes, gradually, onto its hindlegs.

And Billy's not— he's not _scared,_ he thinks, but there's something in his head, something muffled and distant but there nonetheless: an instinct to run even when his legs won't work. 

_**We will show you.** _

The creature lunges. Billy wants to scream. He _wants_ to, but no sound will come out — just a dull, rasping groan as something wraps around his ankle and drags him across the dirty cement floor.

It’s on him all at once; a claw-tipped hand rends down the front of Billy’s filthy shirt, splitting it open until it falls away in ruined tatters. Billy thinks that his stomach will be its next target, that the monster is going to eviscerate him in one agonizing swipe, and however resigned he is to his impending doom, the knowledge still has his insides twisting with fear.

He squeezes his eyes shut and thinks, maybe, this will be over quickly. 

He’s used to pain, at least; it’s like an old friend. But no matter how deeply he retreats into his head, Billy’s instincts tell him that if he cannot run, he might as well fight.

With an angry hiss, he kicks at the creature with his free foot and feels it connect with something solid. Billy cracks his eyes open in time to see that he’s hit the creature right in the centre of its sunken, bony chest. 

Billy bares his teeth and gives it another violent kick. This time, the creature grabs him by the ankle, and that featureless face splits open like the ugliest flower Billy’s ever seen — five petals covered by concentric of rows of tiny, razor-sharp teeth. 

Panic grips him tighter than a vise as it lets out a high, shrieking roar.

_**We will show you.** _

The voice rings in his ears like a headache, pounding through his skull like the horrible sound it's still making. Billy tries to flail away from it, fear making his heart beat frantically against his ribs. He knows he’s weak, but, _dammit,_ he’s not going to let this thing eat him without a struggle.

He squirms like a wild animal caught in a trap; it’s futile, Billy can already tell as much, but he still manages to flip onto his stomach and claw desperately across the floor. He doesn’t get very far. He didn’t _expect_ to. 

So, when the monster bears down on Billy’s back, pressing a clawed hand between his shoulders, Billy isn’t surprised. He already _knows_ that he’s fucked.

He hadn’t realized just _how_ fucked he’d be.

Billy hears a tearing sound; he feels cool air on his ass as his muck-covered jeans are torn apart, as the thing literally rips the fucking denim asunder with its claws. He thinks: _This is it._ He thinks: _This is how I die._

Billy has felt fear like this before. Twice. The first time was when Neil had caught him fucking around with his friend Dave in the garage. 

The last was when something had dragged him down the stairs to the basement of an abandoned cellar. He remembers very little after that, but something about the memory brings about a jolt of deja-vu. 

Billy squeezes his eyes closed again and waits for it. His heart feels like it might burst out of his chest with how hard it’s beating.

Then he feels something press against the small of his back — something wet and blunt and icy to the touch. Billy reflexively shudders away from it, but he can’t move, can’t escape. He knows this, and tries anyway.

Then that cold something slides between his ass cheeks, slow, _intentional;_ Billy’s entire body seizes up with an entirely different sort of fear. He remembers what the creature had said, the word burned into his memory. It had called him _queen._

Billy starts struggling harder. Kicking. Flailing. Like it’s going to get him somewhere.

“Get the hell off of me!” he snarls, and it sounds less angry that it does panicked, but Billy can’t bring himself to care at this point. 

The creature just rolls him over, rough and sudden. Its face is folded up again, the seams of its awful mouth fluttering as it leans down and chitters against his ear

**_Don’t be afraid._ **

Billy wants to deny the voice in his head. To tell it that he isn't _afraid._ That this is all just instinct and fury. That he's stood nose-to-nose with fear before and told it to go fuck itself right to its face. 

Something tells Billy that whatever this monster is, it's indifferent to his bravado. That whatever this monster is, it _knows_ Billy, on some bone-deep level, with an intimacy that Billy can’t even find the words to describe.

And _that_ strikes more fear into Billy's heart than the sight of it: looming over him on all-fours, so uncannily human yet _not,_ the flesh between its bony legs split open to reveal a protruding length, bulbous and alien and unmistakable.

Billy feels cold dread wash over him at the realization that he’s staring at the thing’s _cock._

And it’s rubbing it against Billy, sawing it between his thighs. It's cool and slick and has the same mottled texture of the monster's skin, thinner than three of Billy's fingers but at least as long as his forearm. 

His stomach curdles. It's obvious what it's after, Billy thinks. And the worst part is that the friction against his dick is starting to get him hard. 

"Fuck off!" Billy pulls himself upright and throws a haymaker at the monster's head, because he'd rather lose a hand than his dignity if he's going to die here anyway. 

The monster leans away to avoid the swing. Its mouth flutters with a low, crackling sound that makes Billy's spine tingle, and then it's releasing its hold on one of Billy's ankles to shove him back onto the ground. 

_**We will make this easier for you.** _

Billy's not sure what that means, but the voice in his head is melting away to white noise, and with it, the world around him fades to various shades of grey. 

He's vaguely aware of how easily he goes down, back meeting cement and limbs growing limp. Everything feels cold and heavy and fuzzy around the edges, like he’s just worked his way through a six-pack and a few shots and maybe smoked a couple bowls, too, his head spinning and his thoughts slow and dull. The edge of desperation Billy had felt before is suddenly muffled and distant. He’s not quite calm, but he isn’t afraid anymore, either.

There’s something else, too — a feverish electricity that burns across his skin like cold fire. It settles in the pit of Billy’s stomach, making his cock twitch and swell between his legs.

That should frighten him, or at the very least disgust him. But Billy’s thoughts come slowly and the creature is making more noises against his ear, the sound mesmerizing and somehow familiar.

_**We will escape this place.** _

The words slip into his head, a slow sluggish drip, like his thoughts are syrup. Billy groans, pressing his eyes shut. His body is buzzing and he can't help but lean into the feeling, letting it take over as he grows limp beneath the unyielding body above him. 

Escape sounds good. He _wants_ to escape. He wants to go back to— _somewhere._

He can't remember where, exactly. It doesn't matter. 

_**But first, we must grow.** _

Billy doesn't know what that means. He doesn't _care._ The friction against his cock feels so nice. 

He spreads his legs a little wider and lets his head tilt back and his tongue loll out to wet his lips. They feel cold and tingle pleasantly at the touch. 

Billy slides his eyes closed with a moan and grinds himself up against that slick cock that's still pushing against him. He feels more touches against his chest, along his chin and cheeks — when he blearily squints up, he sees a mass of squirming black tentacles erupting from the creature's gaping maw. They're undulating against him, wet and chilled, leaving trails of something slippery and viscous across Billy's skin. 

He thinks the sight would have horrified him if his mind wasn’t filled with cotton. As it is, he’s only vaguely aware of his pulse as it beats a little harder in his throat. He feels himself shivering as one of the tendrils slithers up his throat and prods at the corner of his mouth.

_**Open.** _

Billy doesn’t hesitate. As if the thought was his own, he opens his mouth and doesn’t dare snap shut his jaw as the tentacle slides past his lips. It touches his tongue and at once he feels his cock jump and leak pre against his stomach. It’s not the taste (faintly metallic), or the texture (slimy and smooth), so much as it’s the feeling that runs through him when it slides into his mouth. Almost as though it’s his own dick resting on his tongue. 

He’s not sure how that’s possible, but he isn’t conscious enough to contemplate it, let alone care.

Billy seals his lip around the tentacle and sucks.

The white noise crackles louder. Pleasure shoots down his spine and has Billy moaning, his eyes fluttering shut again, his back arching off the floor. He feels other tentacles undulating against him, sticking and rubbing at his cock, at his balls, at his nipples — every touch feels targeted, precise. Like they know exactly where every one of Billy’s sensitive spots are, including the ones he didn’t know he had.

So, when one of them slides between Billy’s ass cheeks and prods at his hole, Billy knows it’s going to feel good. Because everything else does. Because he’s still obediently sucking the undulating appendage in his mouth and even _that_ leaves him dripping.

He lets his knees fall open wider and groans, low and gurgling, as the tentacle slides deeper into his throat until he gags. The other presses inside of his ass until it brushes something that feels undeniably good.

Then there’s that sensation again — of blowing and being sucked off, of fucking and being fucked simultaneously. It makes Billy’s eyes roll back into his skull. It makes him rock his hips desperately as though to coax the monster to give him more.

And it does. 

The first tentacle had been about the thickness of Billy’s thumb; the second is about the same, but as it buries its way past the rim of his ass, Billy doesn’t even feel the stretch. His body is buzzing too much. His mind is in stasis.

But then the tentacles dig deeper, and Billy feels it: something burns, making his toes curl and the two appendages curl and abruptly pop out of him. The emptiness makes Billy ache, but not as badly as the searing heat had.

_**We like it cold.** _

Billy can’t find it in himself to disagree. The heat had been unpleasant. He thinks he — _they —_ would prefer ice.

The humming in his ears turns up in frequency. Suddenly, the tentacles brushing up against him don’t feel so chilly to the touch. 

Billy breathes out a sigh of relief when he’s rewarded with two of them pushing back inside, this time without any burn aside from the stretch of their sudden intrusion. It’s good, though — the edge of pain, the tightness, because he can swear he feels both simultaneously.

He can feel his own throat spasming around the tendril that’s sliding in, joined now by two more; they push in, deeper and deeper, until Billy starts to choke. In some distant corner of his brain, he wonders if he’s going to die like this — getting throat-fucked to death by tentacles.

Somehow, the prospect doesn’t sound so terrible. But then again, _nothing_ really does right then.

_**Wider.** _

Billy opens his jaw until it aches, but he knows that wasn’t what the creature was demanding. It’s just all he _can_ do, aside from lie there and bear down as a third and fourth tentacle wriggle past his sphincter and slide deep inside him. He already feels so full, stuffed from both ends, and new though this is for him it’s somehow already so familiar, so _right,_ that Billy isn’t sure why he’d ever put up a struggle.

The tentacles in his ass begin to move back and forth. They go slowly, at first, pulling apart and sawing in and out, stretching him open. They leak something cold and slimy that has Billy shivering and rocking his hips up from the cement floor.

Billy thinks to speak, and for a moment, the tentacles in his throat slide out and slick along his cheeks and jaw, instead.

“ _Fuck,_ keep fucking doing that.” His voice sounds foreign. Far-away. The words are all running together and fading in and out like ink on wet paper. Billy keeps his eyes closed and can’t help imagining what a cock would feel like pushing inside him, instead. He’d always been curious. He’d always _fantasized_ about it, even while pretending like he _wasn’t._

It’s a natural progression to wonder what the creature’s cock will feel like inside him.

Just the thought has a shiver running down his spine and Billy’s jaw falling slack around a breathy moan.

The tentacles fuck into him harder, now. It’s enough to push Billy across the floor and make him see stars when he blinks his eyes open and stares up at the black, empty space that had once been the ceiling of his cell. It’s familiar, here. Like _home._

Billy wraps a hand around his dick, already slick with pre. He starts to jerk himself off in time to the tendrils inside him. He thinks he could cum just getting fucked like this, that the rough tempo, the mind-numbing pleasure of being filled so fucking _good,_ is all it would take to get him there.

He thinks that, until the tentacles in his ass suddenly slide away.

Billy whimpers at the loss, but he knows it won’t last for long. He’s not sure how he knows. He just _does._

He pulls his knees toward his chest and lets his mouth hang open so that more tentacles can slip inside and use his throat at their leisure. It’s good to have a purpose, he thinks. Because that’s what this is — that’s what this creature is giving him.

_**Our Queen.** _

The word doesn’t make him shudder with anger, this time. Billy just groans around his mouthful and rocks his hips, feeling so uncomfortably, painfully _empty_ that not even the hand he has frantically jerking himself off can make up for it.

So, it comes as a relief when Billy feels its cock pushing against the rim of his ass. It’s not as thick as the four tentacles had been, and he’s so slick and loose that it slides in easily, with barely even a stretch. It doesn’t feel like enough, doesn’t fill Billy up the way he’s itching for, but it’s good enough that he groans and squeezes at his dick and grinds against it in wordless demand for more.

The creature gives him exactly what he wants. Like it _knows._

It _must._

It shoves the full length of its cock inside him in one smooth push; Billy feels his breath leave him like it’s punched it out of his chest. It’s not thick, but it’s so fucking _long_ he thinks he can feel it in his stomach. It can’t be possible. _Can’t be._ But when it starts sawing into him — slowly, at first, until the instant Billy’s adjusted enough that it can move faster — Billy gasps, eyes snapping open. There’s no bulbous shape protruding out of his stomach, but when one of his hands moves down to his navel, he swears he can _feel_ it pushing up inside him.

The sensation makes him shudder. He isn’t sure if it’s disgust or want. He isn’t sure what his thoughts even are, at this point.

He closes his eyes again and feels pleasure curl up his spine, pulling him away from his head and into his body. His hand starts moving on his cock at the same relentless pace he’s being fucked, and it’s so fucking _perfect,_ he can understand why bitches like this so much, why they moaned and gasped like he is now with two tentacles fed into his mouth.

The dick inside him pulses and swells, thicker and curling up until it hits that spot that has Billy’s eyes rolling back into his head as he cums into his fist with a gurgled shout. He feels his spend, sticky and only barely warm as it splashes against his knuckles and stomach; more dribbles out, fucked out of him with every deep push. For a moment, he’s insensate, chin tilting back toward the ceiling and hand squeezing feebly at his wet dick until it’s oversensitive and he has no choice but to let go.

The voice in his head sounds so pleased that it makes Billy’s skin tingle with pleasure.

_**You are ready.** _

And then—

Something’s stretching at the rim of his hole. It’s easily the width of a fist. _Too much,_ Billy thinks, but just as the panic starts to well in his chest, it’s forced back down again, turned into indistinct mush with the rest of his scrambled thoughts. 

Still, Billy groans and clenches his jaw, because even if it feels pleasurable on some level, it _aches,_ too. It doesn’t feel like whatever pushing inside him is going to fit, but it isn’t stopping, and Billy has no choice but to grit his teeth and take it.

Whatever it is, it’s round and smooth and slick; the widest part of it seems to be stuck, lodged half-way inside him. The creature rocks into him persistently, like it doesn’t realize that it’s too big to fit. Like it doesn’t _care._ Billy can feel his eyes welling up from the sting of it. He presses them shut. Grinds his teeth. Tries to detach himself from the pain that threatens to snap him out of his delirium.

And then, suddenly, the pressure against the rim of his ass is gone. Whatever had been pushing against it pops inside. With it comes this heady sense of relief that washes over Billy like a fever. It leaves him panting and boneless where he lies against the pitch black floor, heaving as the thing inside him pushes deeper into his guts and sends little frissons of pleasure rocketing down his spine.

He aches all over. He feels numb with it. Billy wants to lie there and gasp at the ceiling until the tingling and aching in his body drains out of him.

The creature has other ideas.

_**More.** _

Billy can’t bring himself to protest. The most he gets out is a feeble groan as he feels another stretch against the rim of his hole. It doesn’t hurt as much this time, but the pressure still has his toes curling, still leaves him heaving and huffing for air as another round, bulbous _thing_ is forced into him along with the first. A gush of cool slick follows it. Billy feels some of it dribbling out, running down his taint. He shivers and instinctively braces himself for what he already knows is coming next.

The creature doesn’t stop. Whatever its feeding inside Billy, it keeps going. And going. Billy counts six. He loses count after nine. His stomach is starting to cramp up, the skin pinched. When he brushes a hand across it, he can feel something hard and lumpy in his gut. A wave of disgust comes over him, has Billy tempted to squirm away and vomit, but it disappears as quickly as it had come, numbed over by the static inside his head and the pleasure still throbbing through his body.

Billy feels less calm than he does exhausted when the creature eventually slides out of him. Its spend — or whatever the hell it is — forms a small puddle under Billy’s thighs, sticky against the cement. He wants to roll away from it, but he’s too tired, too cold, too _full._

Billy stares at the ceiling. He can hear the creature nearby, shuffling quietly in the darkness. He’s not afraid of it anymore. But that doesn’t make the prospect of being locked in here, _alone_ with it, any easier to swallow.

_**We will not be alone for long.** _

Billy shudders. His hand moves to his stomach instinctively. He feels a spike of excitement, but it doesn’t feel like his own. It feels wrong. _Alien._

**_You will build._ **

The thought pushes its way through Billy’s head. Creeping, slow. Billy is shivering, now.

**_And we will grow._ **

The fear he feels is his own, subdued though it is. There’s a far away quality to it, like it’s being filtered through water. Or like it’s a hazy memory. A moment of deja-vu. 

Billy stares at the ceiling of his cage and tries to find comfort in knowing that he won’t be trapped here much longer.

**Author's Note:**

> Feel free to come hit me up on my [tumblr](https://tea-otter.tumblr.com/), where I can easily be bribed to write more disgusting smut and monsterfucking.


End file.
